


139 - Van 'I'm Gonna Have A Billion Kids' McCann & You... You Who Doesn't Want Kids

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:38:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “ok so we all know how much van wants kids. as someone how primarily doesn’t want any kids, it’d be kinda interesting to see your approach on a fic about that??? maybe angsty, maybe doesn’t end happily; whatever you wanna do!”





	139 - Van 'I'm Gonna Have A Billion Kids' McCann & You... You Who Doesn't Want Kids

Somehow you didn't hear about the Van McCann Wants A Million Babies dream until you'd been dating for months. You were at the cinema, snuggled down in the back row together. A child ran up and down the stairs screaming.

"Fuck me. I hope they shut them up before the movie starts," you said, reaching your hand into the box for more popcorn. When Van didn't reply you looked over at him. Spacey expression, watching the kid; you waved close to his face. He looked over at you suddenly, snapping out of the daydream.

"Sorry?"

"The kid?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Dead cute, innit. Can't wait to have ten of my own," he said nonchalantly. You bit your tongue and changed the subject.

…

"Larry… can I ask you something?" Larry rolled onto his side on the couch. Van had gone for more drinks and smokes. "Van wants kids, yeah?"

"Yes. He's been talkin' bout them since forever. Why?" he replied. You shrugged, trying to act casual. "You don't… want kids?"

"Haven't thought about it,"

"Probably should if you plan on being with him for a while," Larry told you. He laughed like it wasn't the most terrifying thing anyone had ever said to you.

…

Your sister had a baby and Van offered to babysit so many times that their house became more familiar than yours or his. He'd walk around their cottage rocking the infant gently. Milk was warmed to the right temperature and without any hesitation in handling pumped breast milk. Not even a joke about it. Van changed nappies and sung lullabies and kissed the baby's forehead more softly than he'd ever kissed you. Your sister loved Van, and Van loved your baby nephew.

…

"I'm going to fucking work in bars for the rest of my fucking life," you said dramatically with an even more dramatic sigh.

"You could start a band?" Van offered from where he was stretched out on your couch, acoustic guitar resting on top of him.

"No musical talent,"

"Go back to school?"

"Oh God, no,"

"Be one of them live-in nannies that get paid a lot,"

"Absolutely hate kids," you replied without thinking. Van immediately looked over at you. His face was twisted in an expression you'd never seen. One part hurt. One part shock. One part fear. All parts bad.

…

It was never the same after that. There had previously been late night conversations about joining Van on tour, and living together too. He'd even sent you links to houses for sale that he liked, to see if you were feeling the same vibes. All of it stopped. Your sister asked why he'd not been asking to babysit as much, and you lied and said he was busy with the band. Maybe it would have been better to have the conversation early, make a decision about the future of the relationship, but you were still in love and so was he.

When the night cloaked everything in darkness and quiet, you'd watch each other's movements in bed. He'd slowly traced over the lines of your knuckles, and you'd gently pull at his hair. You'd stay awake for hours, not talking, not doing anything; just watching, waiting, loving. It was the softest brutality you'd ever experienced. A slow motion car crash. A terminal illness without a set expiration date.

Van sat down and put a laptop on your lap. You looked at him in question.

"Tour schedule for the rest of this year and next," he said. He was chewing his nails and could hardly sit still. It wasn't happy nervous though. You read the email and attached schedule. He would hardly be home at all. You knew why he was showing it to you. Unsaid were the words 'I'm not going to be here. You don't want children. We may as well break up.' But left unsaid meant they didn't have to be acknowledged. You handed the laptop back and nodded. He watched you, waiting for more.

"You've never been to South American before. That's exciting,"

"That's not-" he stopped himself, then nodded. "Yeah. It is. Be good to have to build the fanbase from the ground up again,"

"Graft," you said. He grinned.

"Exactly," he replied and his smile faded with the reminder that you knew him, and loved him, and he loved you. "But… I'm going to take all my stuff to Mum and Dad's. Break lease on my place. Not going to be here much for a few years…." The sentence was over, but it rang out with emotional echo. "Um… What… What do you want to do… about… it all?"

"It all?"

"Yeah. Like, us…"

Suddenly it became real. Very, very real. You stood up and stepped away from Van. "I don't want to talk about this," you said quickly and left the room. After a few minutes, he followed you into the kitchen. You were chopping carrot for a stir fry. Van wrapped his arms around you and kissed the back of your neck.

"Don't have to talk about it yet. We've got a while," he whispered.

…

It was a few weeks before Van was due to leave. You'd spent the day helping him drive all of his possessions over to Mary and Bernie's. The sun was set, and Van was inside helping Mary with something. You sat on the back porch with Bernie.

"We like you, Y/N," he said. You could feel a 'but' coming on. You looked over at him. "It's going to be hard to not see him much for so long,"

"Yeah…"

"Are you going to separate?" he asked. It was blunt and to the point, and you liked him for being like that.

"We haven't talked about it," you answered honestly. Bernie nodded and looked out over his backyard. "Um… Van wants kids…"

"And you don't?"

"No… Not at all… We haven't really talked about that either. Probably wouldn't need to, because we've only been together for just under a year. But… He's leaving… And I guess we have to decide if it's worth it,"

"Don't envy ya right now, love," Bernie said. He was warm, like Van, but more practical. However, he was also a romantic. Another trait he'd passed on to his only child. "If it helps any - he's madly in love with you."

You covered your face with your hands and leant forever, groaning. "That makes it worse! So much worse."

…

Van was waiting for your cue to start the conversation, clearly. He'd not brought up the relationship status again. It was the night before he was due to leave, and his packed bags were by your door. He was looking for one of his favourite shirts in the pile of clothes in your bedroom when you stood at the doorway, finally ready to say it.

"Van?"

"Yeah, babe," he said, not looking up.

"You're the best person I've met in my entire life," you paused and watched him stand up and lose any bit of happiness he was feeling in that moment. "You're kind, and funny, and all determined to do cool shit, and you're so fucking weird and I love it. I love you…" His eyebrows were pulled together and his chest had started to rise and fall quicker than it should. You could see the panic and the sad and the grief swelling in him already. "But… there's no point in us doing this, is there? You're off living the dream. I'm stuck here. You want little baby Vans, and I… I'm never gonna want that… It's just too hard." You watched his lips part as he tried for my oxygen. His hands ran through his hair and over his face. Van rocked on the spot, then started to nod.

"I… Yeah… Thought you might…" He rubbed his nose along the sleeve of his shirt. "Do you want me to go?" he asked suddenly.

"What? Van. No," you quickly replied, stepping closer. You were stopped by an invisible force field around him. He wasn't your boyfriend anymore. You didn't just get to smash your body to his whenever you needed comfort. You weren't allowed to use your body to comfort him either.

"God I fucking love you," he said. A fucking bullet, it was. You held your arms across your stomach and tried to not cry. You looked at him and nodded.

"Same. But…"

"But you're right. I know. I know that. Just…"

"Not used to not getting what you want?" you offered in a joke. He breathed out through his nose in the closest thing to a laugh he could muster.

Nodding he said, "Yeah… something like that." He held his arms out, lowering the force field. Holding each other tight, trying to apply pressure to the wounds, you closed your eyes.

"You'll be alright," you told him.

"Yeah. Not for a bit, though. Really, really fucking love you."

And that was it. You got almost a year with Van, and maybe you'd spend the rest of your life wondering what could have happened under different circumstances, if you were just slightly different people. But, you weren't. He wasn't. He was born to be a father of a million musical babies. Depriving him of that would be a crime against him, and probably humanity. Giving in and bearing children you didn't really want was never an option; there was too much self-respect for that. In the end you learnt the lesson that love is not enough, that it cannot conquer all. Such a really, fucking harsh lesson to have to learn.


End file.
